


just want you close

by biblionerd07



Category: Leverage
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Multi, Past Abuse, Polyamory, Self-Doubt, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: They save the world, kind of. And then Eliot has to recover from his injuries, and Parker and Hardison are determined to help him do that. In a variety of ways.
Relationships: Alec Hardison & Parker & Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Parker, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 71
Kudos: 343





	just want you close

They save the world, kind of. Eliot gets shot twice in the process, but that’s not so bad. They killed the virus and Parker and Hardison are safe. Taking two bullets is a small price to pay for that. Things could have gone so, so much worse.

Hardison bumps them up to first class on the flight home. It’s risky with the heat that’s been on them today, but he won’t listen to Eliot’s arguments. “I _am_ the retrieval specialist,” Eliot snaps. “That includes extraction.”

“You sure are,” Hardison soothes, rubbing Eliot’s shoulder condescendingly, albeit carefully. He’s on the side with the bullet wound.

That’s just insulting. Eliot thinks he deserves a little more respect after getting shot to make sure Hardison and Parker could get off that train. But then he rolls his eyes internally. What does he want, a parade for doing his damn job? His reward is that Hardison and Parker are alive and well. He doesn’t need anything more than that.

Okay, now he’s just getting sappy.

Hardison and Parker keep fussing over him on the flight. Well, Hardison does. Parker does in her own way, which is not-quite-gently poking her fingers along his leg until she hits his bullet wound, like she’s testing out how close she can get to the actual hole in his flesh before it hurts. Eliot’s main problem with her hand on his thigh is not the pain. Pretty much the exact opposite, actually, and he doesn’t want to deal with this when he’s trapped in close quarters with both Parker and Hardison. So he pokes his own bullet wound to refocus himself.

“Don’t do that!” Hardison scolds. “You gotta be suffering every minute of your life or you’re not happy or something? Goddamn. Take an Advil and go to sleep.”

“An Advil?” Eliot echoes, kind of amused. That seems tame from Hardison.

“Oh, I’d tell you take something way stronger, but I know you won’t,” Hardison snips. “Both of you, all pain and misery all the time. If I ever get shot, let me tell you, give me them drugs, okay? All of ‘em.”

“I can’t get soft,” Eliot says.

“Okay, sure, whatever, man, but that don’t mean you can’t take a _night_ after getting _shot_ —twice!—to relax and not be in pain.”

Eliot doesn’t have a response to that. “You got an Advil?” Eliot checks.

“I do not,” Hardison admits. “But I can sure as hell find you one.”

“Eliot has some in his bag,” Parker says. She pulls the bottle out of her pocket. She grabs his hand, pulls at his fingers until he opens it, and shakes out three pills.

“When did you even take that?” Eliot asks, reaching in for two more. Hardison narrows his eyes a little, because he’s constantly nagging Eliot about liver damage from all the painkillers he takes. Like liver damage is Eliot’s biggest concern. Eliot knows the bottle was in his bag when he put in the overhead bin. He heard the pills rattling around.

“Ten minutes ago.”

He doesn’t bother asking how she got the bottle without him noticing. That would be a pretty stupid question to ask one of the world’s greatest thieves. He’s pretty sure she’s _the_ best, but he doesn’t know if he can say that for sure without bias. Eliot’s not really sure how thievery rankings have expanded while they’ve been good guy adjacent.

Hardison makes a big production of carefully tucking his little airline blanket around Eliot and putting the pillow behind Eliot’s head. “You need an eye mask?” He asks, and he is completely serious. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Eliot was already in love with him, but he falls a little deeper just from how dumb Hardison is being.

Maybe it doesn’t hurt that Hardison is trying so hard to be good to him.

Parker covers Eliot’s eyes with her hand. “He doesn’t need a mask,” she says. “I’ll just do this.”

Eliot bats her hand away, swallowing down the ball of warmth rising in his chest. These two are so absolutely stupid, and he can’t help but love them.

“I’m not going to sleep,” Eliot protests. He gets two scowly looks in return, but he ignores them. They’re not out of the woods just because they’re on an airplane. He may not be moving fast, but he can damn well make sure he doesn’t disadvantage them by falling asleep.

Unfortunately, there’s only so much his strength of will can do. Usually, it’s a whole lot. But he did get shot twice, and he’s been awake for nearly thirty-one hours, and Parker settles into his side close enough to touch despite the fact that the seats are further apart up here and she’s an aisle away, and Hardison keeps adjusting the blanket around Eliot and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

So Eliot does end up falling asleep, which is a little embarrassing after he just made a big deal about not going to sleep. It’s only for an hour, but it’s the last hour of the flight, and then Parker and Hardison are trying to walk him off the plane without waking him up, which just makes him feel warm and fond. They set him up in the backseat of the car and drive straight to the Brewpub.

“What about—” Eliot starts.

“Don’t even try to argue with me,” Hardison warns. “You are staying here.”

“We don’t even know where you live, anyway,” Parker says, which is an absolute lie. He knows for a fact Hardison knows, because he keeps tabs on everyone’s various aliases and makes sure nothing happens that could jeopardize them. He probably saw the lease Eliot signed while he was signing it. And besides, Parker has absolutely followed him home. She left a bowl in the sink after she ate cereal _that she brought_. She did it to tell him she’d been there, a calling card of sorts that only a select few people would understand, and he does appreciate it better than the prickling sensation of knowing someone was in his apartment without knowing who it was. Still. She’s lying.

He can’t muster up the energy to point that out. He’s just so tired. The blood loss and the adrenaline crash are doing their worst. His head lolls the whole way home.

“Gotta put in a ramp,” he hears Hardison say dimly as they struggle up the stairs.

“How about—”

“Babe, I am not putting in a zipline instead of the stairs,” Hardison says, exasperated like they’ve had this conversation multiple times. “That is so not ADA-approved. And how would we get _up_? You can’t go up a zipline.”

“You can if you’re not a wimp,” Parker mutters.

“I heard that,” Hardison says. “Besides, how would Eliot do that right now? You want him climbing up a zipline like this? Open his stitches and bleed on my stairs, probably fall and break his head? Then I throw up because you know I don’t like blood, then we got _two_ biohazards in a public stairwell? One of my valued employees has to come back here and mop it up and then they throw up because blood and puke are gross. Think of the mess you’re asking me to make.”

“I could climb a zipline like this faster than you ever could,” Eliot mumbles. Parker cackles.

“I hate y’all,” Hardison says, even though his voice holds an awful lot of not-hate. Eliot’s not going to put a name to the emotion he hears in Hardison’s voice. It’ll hurt worse than the bullet he took in the shoulder.

Well, maybe not quite. That did hurt a lot.

They get inside and Nate and Sophie are waiting. Nate blinks at the sight of them. “This was supposed to be a simple diamond extraction Parker could do in her sleep,” he says, sounding a little faint. “What happened?”

Hardison opens his mouth, then puffs out a sigh. “Uh. Long story. But the gist of it is really bad guys wanted to do bad guy stuff, good guys saved the day, yay, but Eliot did it in his Eliot way of getting in the way of the bad guys, boo.”

“Why do you smell like turpentine and canvas?” Parker asks suspiciously, sniffing Sophie’s hair. “You smell like paintings.”

“And gunpowder,” Eliot adds.

Nate and Sophie look at each other. “Maybe we should all get some sleep,” Sophie suggests. Eliot rolls his eyes as best he can when they’re half-closed. They were supposed to take a mini-vacation. Obviously, no one’s weekend went as planned.

“Did anyone look at those?” Nate asks. He doesn’t bother asking if Eliot should be in the hospital. He knows it’s a useless question.

“EMTs,” Hardison says.

“So, Eliot, will you be hiring your lovely nurse again?” Sophie asks, raising her eyebrows.

“No,” Parker answers immediately. “We’re his nurses.”

Nate’s eyebrows are meeting his hairline at this point. “That’s probably our cue to leave,” he tells Sophie. “Eliot, please sleep at least tonight, yeah? Looks like we’re on a bit of an extended vacation.”

“Don’t need a vacation,” Eliot protests. “Gimme two days.”

“You’re bleeding through your shirt,” Sophie says.

“And your pants,” Hardison says.

Eliot doesn’t help his argument by choosing that moment to pass out. “Dammit, Hardison,” he curses as he goes down.

The last thing he consciously hears is Hardison indignantly squawking, as he catches Eliot, “How is this possibly _my_ fault?”

He’s dreaming. That doesn’t happen often, and he certainly doesn’t usually have nice dreams like this. Usually his only dreams are nightmares.

But right now he’s dreaming that Hardison is pressing a cool, wet towel to his forehead while Parker packs gauze into his shoulder with deft hands. Eliot’s in their bed, and he can smell Hardison’s deodorant and Parker’s shampoo all around him. His leg and his shoulder are both elevated, which is good. They’re learning. Parker finishes up on his shoulder. She kisses over the bandage she just placed and then comes over to brush a kiss against Eliot’s cheek. Hardison moves the towel and kisses Eliot’s forehead.

“Don’t do this again,” Hardison murmurs.

“He probably will,” Parker whispers. “So we’ll just do all _this_ again.”

It’s a good dream, but it could definitely use some improvements. Like him not being shot at all. Then he could pull them both down onto the bed with him, get some real kisses going.

“Is he smiling?” Hardison asks.

“Maybe,” Parker says. “He’s so cute when he’s asleep.”

“Does it count as sleep if he passed out from blood loss?”

“I don’t think it was blood loss,” Parker counters. “He’d be way paler. I think it was just pain.”

“Because he wouldn’t take the drugs like _I_ said.” It’s very pointed. Hardison is admonishing Parker, too. Hah. Eliot’s not the only one in trouble. Their whispered bickering is soothing. It makes sense that he’d hear all this in his dream. It’s like having his comm in during a job. But a little bit better, because he doesn’t have to keep an ear out for trouble. He wouldn’t be much help right now, anyway.

Eliot wakes up drenched in sweat. At first he’s concerned, because that’s not a good sign. But then he realizes he’s drenched in sweat because it’s absolutely _stifling_ in his room. He never keeps his temperature this high. He rubs his eyes and then blinks.

He’s not in his room. He’s in Hardison and Parker’s bed. Just like his dream. He swallows. They piled about twelve blankets on top of him for some reason, and it’s not exactly easy to shift all of them away when he’s down an arm and a leg.

He can’t even pull himself into a proper sitting position before Hardison and Parker dart into the room. “Don’t move!” Parker yells at him.

“Why is it so hot in here?” Eliot asks. His voice is all raspy because he’s completely parched.

“You were in shock,” Hardison says. “Google said to keep you warm.”

“Wasn’t in shock,” Eliot protests. “I didn’t even pass out.”

“You definitely passed out,” Parker says. “Hardison caught you like a movie princess.”

Eliot scowls. “I fell asleep,” he argues.

Hardison snorts. “You fell asleep very suddenly, then.”

“If you were so worried, why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” Eliot asks.

“Because you don’t like hospitals,” Parker says. “And they wouldn’t have let us stay with you. But we did call the doctor, whatever his name is. Chicken Parm. He made us take your pulse and stuff like that and he said you were doing as okay as possible. He said to call him if you got worse but you didn’t so we just let you sleep.”

Hardison moves closer and drops to his knees by the bed. Whoa. His hands are dipping below the blankets and—“What are you doing?” Eliot barks.

“I’m checking on your leg,” Hardison says, slapping Eliot’s hand away. Eliot grimaces when the tape around the gauze pulls at his leg hair. “Looks okay,” Hardison says. “No oozing pus.”

That effectively kills Eliot’s mood from when Hardison was leaning in and reaching for Eliot below the waist. “Told you,” Eliot says gruffly. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Hardison says in a tone that says he is absolutely humoring Eliot. “We’ll bring you some breakfast.”

“I gotta move around some,” Eliot says. “And I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Not by yourself,” Parker orders. She holds up a finger threateningly. “Hardison will help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Eliot starts to say, but Hardison already has his hands on Eliot’s back to help him out of bed, and Eliot figures he can allow himself just a _moment_ of weakness. Hardison is strong and steady and Eliot got shot yesterday. He can let himself lean against Hardison for a little bit.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Parker announces while Hardison leads Eliot down the hall.

“Oh, wait a second,” Eliot says.

“There’s a fire extinguisher in there,” Hardison promises. “But let’s hurry.”

Hardison leans against the counter while Eliot pees. Eliot forces himself not to feel awkward about it. Hardison’s casually not looking, which is a comfort and a curse. Eliot hates feelings. All this is so dumb. Eliot can withstand literal bodily torture without letting a single noise escape his mouth, but he can’t make his brain stop thinking about Hardison ten feet from his dick.

There’s a suspicious lack of burning or fire in the kitchen when they come in. Parker is eating cereal at the bar. Hardison looks around. “Babe, when you said you were making breakfast, we thought you meant for all of us.”

Parker gives him a look. “Well, I’m not good at that. That’s Eliot’s thing. So I made _me_ breakfast that I like and I _ordered_ breakfast that you two like. It’ll be here in five minutes.”

Eliot tries not to breathe his sigh of relief too loudly. He wasn’t looking forward to sugar-on-sugar at 8 am. “Thanks,” he says, instead of any of that. This is Parker being considerate, and he likes it. He watches her put the spoon in her mouth and forces himself not to think about her lips against his arm and his cheek. It was a dream. It felt real, but it wasn’t.

Parker ordered a lot of food, but all of it is stuff Eliot and Hardison both love. Eliot doesn’t feel up to eating as much as he normally would, but at least it’s good food. Hardison gives her a kiss and Eliot looks down at his food. He wants to give her a kiss. He wants to give Hardison a kiss. They eat, and their conversation is light and easy and it makes Eliot ache, in a way. So much of this is what he longs for, but he also wants just a step too far. It’s hard to ignore it after waking up together. That dream is throwing him off. He can usually ignore those feelings a lot better than this. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Or the shared high of a job well done with such high stakes.

Eliot can’t help with dishes or anything. He _could_ , honestly, but Hardison and Parker won’t let him. He doesn’t like being fussed over, as a general rule. He likes to be the one doing the fussing, but that’s a little out of the question at the moment. He really wants to take a shower, but he doesn’t think he can do that on his own, and he _absolutely_ cannot handle one or both of them helping him right now.

“…Eliot?” Hardison asks, and it sounds like Eliot missed a question. He shakes himself out of his own head.

“What?”

“What movies should we watch today?” Hardison looks over toward the TV. “And don’t try to tell me you don’t want to watch movies. You can’t do anything else today.”

“I can—”

“Gimme a day,” Hardison asks. “Come on, man. We watched you get shot and all three of us almost died and there was almost a huge terrorist bioweapon launched on the world. Can we have a day where we all sit and keep eyes on each other and don’t have to worry about anything except snacks?”

It’s sound logic, and Eliot can’t pretend it isn’t an alluring idea. He glances over at Parker, who nods at him. “Just stay,” she says. “Please stay.”

As if he could possibly say no when she asks like that. “Alright,” he says. “But I do have a condition.” They both look anxious, like he’s going to ask them for something they won’t be able to do. He’d never. “I get to pick lunch.”

“Did I choose wrong for breakfast?” Parker asks worriedly. “I thought that was stuff I’ve seen you eat.”

“No, you picked perfect,” Eliot promises. “I just want to pick lunch so you two eat something that’s a natural color.”

Hardison rolls his eyes, big and exaggerated. “I just ate a breakfast burrito that had peppers in it,” he says. “So I don’t want to hear that I don’t eat vegetables.”

“White is a natural color,” Parker says. “Sugar is white.”

“The sugar you eat isn’t white,” Eliot counters.

“It is when I eat spoonfuls of sugar,” Parker says.

“Aw, babe, now he’s going to force-feed us vegetables,” Hardison groans.

“How?” Parker says, raising her eyebrows challengingly. “He’d have to catch me first. He couldn’t anyway, but even if he had a chance, I’d only have to outrun you.”

Eliot can’t help but laugh while Hardison sputters. “I’ll pick normal vegetables,” Eliot promises. “Stuff you’ll like.”

“Fine,” Parker says, longsuffering. “We trust you.”

“I do always end up liking what you pick,” Hardison agrees.

Eliot tries not to show how affected he is by how easily Parker says _we trust you_. He knows they do, obviously. But it’s different to hear her say it out loud like that, so simple, out in the open. He knows they trust him to have their backs on a job. Trusting him with anything else is different. Eliot can whip up a big speech when the time calls for it, but he’s never actually been very good at the day-to-day important words. He keeps them too wrapped up.

They spend an entire day sitting on the couch, eating snacks, and watching TV. They switch between movies and TV episodes and, because Hardison and Parker are doting on Eliot, some hockey and football. Hardison suggests baseball with a little smirk. “You like baseball now, don’t you?” He asks innocently.

“I don’t,” Parker says. “My favorite player quit.” She gives Eliot a huge, ridiculous wink that makes him laugh hard enough to choke on the blueberry he just popped in his mouth.

It’s a good day. Eliot wishes it could go on forever. But of course it can’t. The third time Eliot’s head snaps up because he was nodding off, Hardison clicks off the TV. “Let’s go to bed,” he says. He and Parker get up and Eliot grabs his phone to order himself a cab. He doesn’t want them to have to drive him home, but they did drive him here.

But then they’re both taking one of his arms, like they’re going to help him off the couch, and they start steering him toward the bedroom. “Wait,” Eliot says.

“Gotta pee again?” Parker asks.

“No,” he says. “I…”

“You’re still hurt,” Parker points out. “We told Chicken Parm we’d be keeping an eye on you.”

“Yeah, you know we don’t like to disappoint authority figures,” Hardison chimes in.

Eliot’s pretty sure there’s not an authority figure on Earth these two wouldn’t love to actively disappoint, except maybe Hardison’s nana, but he finds himself shutting his trap. Maybe this is the only way this particular dream comes true. And it’s going to hurt so fucking much when he wakes up from this dream and remembers he can’t have this. But for now, he’s going to take it.

“Okay,” Eliot relents. “But, uh. One thing.” They look at him expectantly and he cringes apologetically. “I actually do have to pee.”

Hardison carts him to the bathroom again, and then they’re all, all three of them, together, getting into bed. Eliot’s heart is pounding so hard he’s afraid he’s going to start bleeding all over again. The last thing he needs is to pass out right now, so he holds his breath for a second and thinks about glaciers and asteroids and the calm stillness of snowfall. It helps, but not as much as it usually does.

They push him into the middle of the bed and take a side each. Now that he’s lying flat, shoulder and leg dutifully elevated again, Eliot can’t keep his eyes open. Exhaustion catches up to him and he’s going to be asleep in two seconds.

“Not so many blankets tonight,” he mumbles.

“Goodnight, Eliot,” Parker says. She snuggles close and rests her weight against his side, almost on his chest but not quite.

“Goodnight, Eliot,” Hardison echoes, one leg hooked around Eliot’s under the blanket.

Eliot thinks he might have some questions about this situation, but he’s asleep before he can remember what they are.

Eliot wakes up first in the morning. Parker isn’t all snuggled up next to him anymore, but her head is almost on his pillow, her hair splayed all over and tickling his neck. Hardison’s hand wormed its way up the back of Eliot’s shirt at some point, so Eliot’s shirt is rucked up and Hardison’s big, warm hand is resting on Eliot’s skin. Eliot just lies there for a minute, relishing all this.

It’s not that Eliot’s clueless. He knows Hardison and Parker aren’t doing all this out of strictly platonic friendship. They’re inviting him into their bed and snuggling up to him and keeping him close because there’s something there.

And yeah, obviously Eliot wants it, too. Maybe more than anything else he’s ever wanted in his life. But he knows by now that wanting it so bad is what makes it so dangerous. The more he wants something, the worse the crash and burn when it all goes to shit.

Feelings make everything complicated. If they just wanted to have a night or two of fun, that would be different. Eliot probably still wouldn’t do it, because mixing casual sex with your crew doesn’t tend to work out well, and he doesn’t think he could do just one night with them at this point. But mixing sex and _feelings_ with your crew works out even worse. Hardison and Parker can do it, fine. But neither of them are the hitter. Eliot can’t let feelings cloud his judgment. Falling for other people makes you lose control of your feelings. Losing control, losing discipline, gets people hurt. If Eliot were the only one on the line, fine. But he isn’t. He can’t risk one or both of them getting hurt.

So he gently moves Hardison’s hand back down to the bed. He brushes Parker’s hair away and slides a few centimeters away from her. It was a miscalculation and he should’ve known better; the movement wakes Parker. Hardison’s still snoring, but of course Parker isn’t going to be a heavy sleeper.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

She moves closer, ignoring his careful migration away, and sighs a little as she settles into his side again. “Does it itch?” She asks,

“What?”

“Where you got shot. Does it itch?”

“Not yet,” Eliot tells her. “It will when the skin starts to grow back. My leg will probably heal faster than my shoulder.”

“Why?” She asks.

“More cushion there. My shoulder doesn’t have as much padding to take the bullet. Probably hit mostly cartilage and tendons, and that takes longer to heal.”

“Hmm,” Parker says. “I’ve never been shot.”

“Yeah, and you won’t ever,” Eliot says, half-reassurance and half-warning.

Parker snorts. “I’m not going to _try_. I’m just saying. I don’t know how it feels.”

Eliot shrugs. “Doesn’t feel great,” he admits. “But it’s not the worst injury.”

Parker moves her head around so she can look up at him. “What’s worse than getting shot?”

Eliot yawns. “Getting stabbed in the back hurt worse.”

Parker’s quiet for a second. “Is that a metaphor?” She asks.

Eliot laughs a little. “No. Literally stabbed in the back. Hit a lung and I almost died. That time I did have to go to the hospital.”

Parker makes a face. “Seems pretty rude to stab someone in the back.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Eliot says.

Parker’s dancing her fingers around his stomach. It would make other parts of him pretty interested if he hadn’t gotten shot just under thirty hours ago. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have energy to spare or he might make this whole situation even more complicated.

She keeps shifting around, restless, and Eliot wonders if she normally hangs around in the bed after she wakes up. He’d have to guess no. “You can go,” he tells her. “You can get up.”

“But I can’t help you up,” she frets.

“You probably could,” Eliot says. “You’re strong.”

“I’m too short, though,” Parker says. “The angle wouldn’t be good enough. You’d end up taking most of your own weight and it would hurt and you would pretend it wouldn’t.” She raises her eyebrows at him, daring him to argue. He doesn’t. She’s right. “So I can’t help you up. And I don’t want to leave you all alone.”

“I mean, I’m not all alone,” Eliot points out. He looks over at Hardison, who’s drooling. It makes Eliot laugh a little. He looks down at Parker and sees a look on her face he can’t name. “What?” He asks, defensive without knowing why.

“Nothing,” she says. “What if I got up and brought you breakfast in bed?”

Eliot grimaces. “No offense, but I’m not really a cereal guy.”

“We have _leftovers_ ,” she reminds him. “I’ll put those eggs in the microwave for you.”

Day-old, reheated eggs aren’t exactly the height of culinary experience. But somehow, Parker makes it sound good. The thought of Parker doing it for him is what makes it sound good. “Sure,” he says, partially because she wants so badly to do something for him and partially because she’s wiggling around so much it’s actually getting a little annoying. She’s got sharp elbows and he’s trying to protect the parts of himself that aren’t currently wounded.

He lies there for a few minutes, letting himself take all this in. He pretends, just for now, while no one can see him, that he could have this for real. They won’t see his face, won’t see him wanting, so he can let himself wish.

When Hardison starts to stir, Eliot makes sure to get his face back under control. Hardison shifts around, and his arm smacks Eliot right on the shoulder, right where he got shot, sending pain searing through him. He hisses before he catch himself.

Eliot doesn’t know how that wakes Hardison fully. Hardison isn’t like Parker and Eliot; he can’t snap from asleep to awake with no transition. Eliot’s glad, because it means Hardison didn’t have to learn how to do that. But right now, Eliot’s hiss wakes Hardison up. And the man is a genius, so he immediately puts together his proximity to Eliot’s shoulder, Eliot’s bullet wound, and the noise Eliot made.

“Oh, damn, Eliot, sorry,” Hardison says, scrambling away.

“No,” Eliot says. He doesn’t know why, but he reaches across his body with his good arm and holds Hardison in place.

Parker comes in just then and sees them, practically nose-to-nose, Eliot’s hand on Hardison’s hip, and she sighs, “Oh, _finally_ ”, and jumps onto the bed. Somehow she’s up and sucking at his earlobe before Eliot can even register what’s happening. His reflexes are the stuff of legend, normally. He blames getting shot.

“Don’t,” Eliot says.

Parker stops. She freezes in place. And then she jumps back off the bed, just as fast as she jumped on. “Sorry,” she says, eyes wide. “I thought…”

“No,” Eliot says. He can’t meet her eyes. He lets go of Hardison.

“Why not?” Hardison asks. Parker and Eliot both look at him and he shrugs. “Man, you want us. Don’t try to deny it. We know it.”

“Not about what I want.” Eliot can’t look at them. He’s never actually done this part, the letdown. He just left with Aimee, and everyone after that was always clear on the fact that it was one show only, no encores. For some reason, these two have never been good at that. Or he’s never been good at sticking to that with these two.

Parker’s forehead creases. “Why not?”

“My job is to take out the other guys. I can’t do that if I’m getting too close to you guys.”

“Why?” Parker asks.

“Feelings change everything,” Eliot says.

“So?” Parker says. “We already agreed to change together, remember?”

“I can’t have feelings and keep you safe,” Eliot says. “So that can’t change.”

“Why can’t you?” Parker asks. “Feelings make me take care of you guys better. I stopped throwing Hardison off buildings because of feelings.”

“And that is definitely an improvement,” Hardison agrees.

“This isn’t a joke,” Eliot snaps, frustrated. They’re treating this like a disagreement about dinner, like if they’re cute and funny enough he’ll change his mind. But he can’t change his mind. He has to stay firm on this.

Admittedly, it’s a lot harder to remember that when he’s still in their bed, still lying beside Hardison, skin still warm from Hardison’s hand on his side.

Like he can feel Eliot’s turmoil, Hardison sighs and pulls himself out of the bed. He moves around it to stand beside Parker and crosses his arms. But proving he can’t actually read minds, he doesn’t make it any easier on Eliot.

Instead, he says, “I think this is a bunch of bullshit.”

Eliot gapes for a second. Hardison is not usually one to call bullshit on someone else’s feelings. He’s usually pretty good at caring about people’s feelings. “What?” Eliot asks.

“I think it’s an excuse,” Hardison says, very clearly. “You got issues, man. We all do.”

“I do,” Parker agrees, and, well, there’s no arguing that.

“You’re scared. You think maybe it’ll change things in a bad way or it’ll ruin what we got going on if things don’t work out. So you’re giving yourself a reason to stay away.” Hardison shrugs. “If you don’t _want_ us, that’s one thing. But I know you do and you’re just not letting yourself because you’re doing that thing where you torture yourself for no good reason.”

“Keeping you alive is no good reason?” Eliot demands.

“Eliot,” Hardison says softly. “You trying to tell me you don’t already have feelings?”

Eliot can’t breathe. Hardison is completely right, and Eliot hates it. He hates that he couldn’t keep himself together better. He hates that he was so easy to read. This is his fucking _job_ and he did such a piss-poor job of it that any denial right now would be a blatant, easily-caught lie.

It’s like when he was seven and unpacked a sleeping bag on his own for the first time. He pulled it out and then couldn’t figure out how to stuff it back into the bag afterward. That’s how his feelings are. He never should’ve indulged himself in the first place, never should have thought about those feelings and named them and examined them. He should’ve left them in the bag.

“I…” Eliot licks his lips and watches Parker and Hardison both track the movement. “Sex changes things.”

“So don’t have sex with us,” Parker says easily. “We want you to, but you don’t have to. No one has to.”

That…gives him complicated feelings. The implication of them discussing that _no one has to_. What that means for Parker specifically, based on what he knows about her life. It makes his chest hurt, and it goes back to what Hardison pointed out.

Eliot’s already in so deep with these two. Their lives are completely intertwined, and Eliot is never going to make a clean getaway. He can’t make an exit strategy that doesn’t rip all three of their hearts out. If it was his own heart, he could do it. But he finds himself unwilling or unable or both when it comes to hurting them.

Aimee would probably have something to say about that.

Thinking of Aimee reminds him why he can’t do this to them. Eliot closes his eyes. “I only ruin things,” he says quietly. “That’s my job. I—I hurt things. People. I break them.”

“That’s not your job,” Parker says. She almost sounds confused. “Your job is to save things. You protect us. You just said it, Eliot. You keep us safe.”

Eliot’s completely speechless. His whole brain feels like it shorted out. He didn’t even realize he’d phrased it that way. Yeah, deep down, he sees his role as a protector. But he does that through hurting people, destroying things. And he’s always had other people phrase is that way. Eliot has done so much damage to so many people. He has hurt and killed and maimed people. And he didn’t ever do it for some noble cause. Maybe once upon a time he _thought_ he had a noble cause. He didn’t, in the end; he mostly got used for someone else’s ends. And then he went out and chose to seek his fortune by hurting whoever he needed to for whoever paid the most. He’s seen himself as a destroyer for a long, long time.

Parker and Hardison are standing on the side of the bed, looking at him, wanting him, and telling him they think he’s their protector. Parker was confused that he even questioned it. They don’t seem worried that he’s going to smash this all to pieces with, as Hardison has called them, his big, punchy hands.

“You were ready to stop a terrorist attack to save people you don’t even know,” Hardison points out. “That’s without feelings. Think about what you’re capable of _with_ feelings.”

“I don’t...” Eliot trails off. He shakes his head. “You’re not getting it.”

“ _You’re_ not getting it,” Hardison counters. “We’re here, Eliot. We’re in. You think we don’t know what you’ve done? Okay, we don’t know specifics. But we know generals. And we’re still here.”

“I didn’t know you back then,” Parker says. “I don’t know if you were good or bad. But I know you now. You’re not good or bad. You’re you. We’re us.” She gives him a look meant to remind him of their conversation in the ice. “I don’t really care about good or bad, you know? I don’t like people who take advantage of other people, like the people we take down. You’re not like that. That’s what I care about.”

Eliot realizes he’s crying about a second too late. These two could completely destroy his occupational reputation with a few well-placed cameras. But they’d never do it. That’s kind of the thing, isn’t it? They could ruin him easily, in so many ways. But they won’t.

“Fuck,” Eliot says.

“Is that a request?” Hardison asks hopefully. He’s smiling softly, enough to show Eliot he’s not taking this lightly. They know Eliot can’t come to this decision easily. They know Eliot beats himself up a lot. He’s been steadily giving them pieces of himself over the years without realizing it, even, and they’ve taken every piece happily.

Eliot’s shaking a little. He’d like to blame it on blood loss, but he’s mostly got that part under control by now. He could probably still blame the bullet wounds or the pain, but it wouldn’t be true. He’s trembling from emotion, something he almost never does.

Parker, for all her delicacy when she’s stealing something, all her graceful acrobatics when she brings them out, isn’t much for patience or delicacy when theft isn’t involved. She climbs back onto the bed and wraps her arm around him. This doesn’t even have to be sexual; if he said he wasn’t in, she’d probably still stay there until he asked her to leave. And maybe even for a little bit longer after that.

She brushes her lips against his temple and murmurs, “It’s okay, Eliot. We’re very overwhelming.”

It makes him laugh through his tears. “Yeah, I already knew that part.”

Hardison goes back around the bed and takes the other side. He holds onto Eliot and rubs his back a little, firm enough to feel but light enough not to hurt. That’s some kind of metaphor, probably. “We can be overwhelming as slow as you need us to be,” Hardison says. “But no matter what, we’re not going away. And you aren’t either.”

It isn’t even a question. They both know he’s not leaving them. They _trust_ him not to leave them. Aimee acted like she was still so mad and hurt, but she always knew he had one foot out the door. She told him that plenty of times. Parker and Hardison don’t know him that way. They don’t know the Eliot who takes off and breaks his promises. They only know the Eliot who always swoops in to get the armed guards at the last minute, who always finds them in whatever warehouse they’re tied up in, who braces their falls and covers their heads for the explosions.

And for them, that’s the Eliot he is. Not just the Eliot he is on jobs and turning it off when they’re done, but all the time. If they called him and needed him in the middle of the night for something completely unrelated to a job, he’d be there. And they all know it.

No matter what happens with any of these feelings, he knows for a fact he’ll go to his grave tracking down those warehouses and taking out those armed guards, catching them off buildings and out of windows. If it’s the last thing he does on this Earth, he’s sticking around to keep them safe. There’s nothing else he can do.

“Okay,” he says. His voice is rough like it always gets when he’s trying to contain himself. “Alright.”

“Can we get more words?” Hardison teases, even though Eliot felt his muscles tense up in anticipation. “Like, okay what? What are you agreeing to here?”

Sometimes, Eliot just needs to shut Hardison up. He’s always _talking_ so much. So Eliot turns his head and kisses Hardison, right on the mouth. He opens up Hardison’s mouth and bites his bottom lip. When Eliot pulls back, Hardison is totally quiet for all of three seconds. Eliot counts.

“O _kay_ ,” Hardison crows. “Well, I guess I don’t need more words after all.”

“Do I have to talk a bunch and annoy you to get a kiss like that?” Parker asks.

“No,” Eliot says. He makes good and kisses her, too. He’s not quite as aggressive with her, because he’s still thinking about her _no one has to_ and all of that, in the back of his mind. She narrows her eyes a little when they break apart.

“Good,” she says. “But we’ll work on it.”

Eliot can’t help but laugh. It’s such a Parker response to this whole situation. It’s comforting, really. They can do this, all three of them, but Hardison’s still going to talk too much and aggravate him and Parker’s still going to be Parker, not always catching social cues or politeness. Eliot’s glad. He likes patterns.

“Think I’m going to need some time before sex is on the table,” Eliot tells them.

“Yeah, of course,” Hardison jumps to agree. “Anything you need, Eliot.”

“No pressure from us,” Parker promises, even as her hand is resting very nicely on his _very_ upper thigh.

“Figure at least two days,” Eliot says. “Then the pain won’t be so bad.”

There’s a beat of silence while they process that he meant physically instead of emotionally. “Oh,” Parker says. She pokes Eliot in the shoulder, barely a centimeter away from the wound. “Just this? Come on, Eliot, can’t you take it?”

His whole mouth goes dry at the challenge. Jesus Christ, how does she already know that’s how he likes it? Maybe all those pokes to his bruises were less about finding vulnerabilities or bringing him back to himself and more hinting than he realized.

Hardison cracks up laughing. “Babe, no,” he cautions. “Eliot protects us, so we gotta do our part and protect Eliot whenever we can. Mostly just from himself. I don’t think Chicken Parm would approve sex.”

“Not sex with us, for sure,” Parker says. She gives Eliot a wink that kicks his heart into overdrive. “We’re very enthusiastic.”

“Oh, shit,” Eliot groans. “Don’t—this ain’t fair. Kicking a man when he’s down.”

Parker looks at his lap. “You’re not down.”

“Parker,” Eliot says, teeth clenched. Hardison’s laughing hard enough to shake all three of them. “Knock it off,” Eliot complains. “Like you’re doing any better.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Hardison says cheerfully. “I was already hard from sleeping next to both of you. Then this whole conversation started and things just progressed from there.”

Eliot shakes his head. If he looks, he’s going to be in pain, because he’s going to say hell with his bullet wounds and get to business. He’s had sex with worse injuries than this; he can do it again. He’d enjoy it even more, just because it’s them. Even without looking, Eliot’s about two seconds away from throwing all caution to the wind.

Parker can obviously see where his brain’s going; she holds up that threatening finger again, and this time he lets himself appreciate it fully. “No,” she admonishes. “No sex with hurt Eliot. Only soup and kisses and snuggles.”

He’d like to point out that he can assess his own injuries, but he knows he won’t win that argument. Won’t win any argument, really. He doesn’t know if he’s won an argument against these two in at least two years. He’s surprisingly okay with that. Anyone else steamrolling over his arguments the way they do would go on Eliot’s shit list, but they know how to work him.

He shakes his head against the mental image that wants to jump into his brain about the two of them working him. Not helpful in his current state. “I gotta say something, though,” Eliot says, because he’s a killer of people and moods alike. “When you get—when you’re done. With me. Like this, I mean. Tell me sooner than later. Don’t draw it out, I mean. The faster you do it, the easier it’ll be to get back to normal. Minimize the damage.”

Hardison and Parker lean around him to look at each other. Hardison’s face, always an open book, says that Eliot made a severe miscalculation.

“When, huh?” Hardison says. “Not cool, Eliot. Not cool. Have some faith.” His words say he’s mad, but he’s giving Eliot a look that’s more sad than anything. Sad that Eliot doesn’t trust him, maybe. Knowing Hardison, mostly sad that Eliot doesn’t give himself more credit.

“We’ve already known you for this long,” Parker says. “Wouldn’t we already be sick of you if we were going to be sick of you?”

“Sex changes things,” Eliot repeats himself from earlier.

“Sure,” Parker agrees. “But I already _said_. We change together, just like we promised. For this, too. Stop making me repeat myself.”

“She hates repeating herself, man,” Hardison says. “Don’t make her do it.”

They’re ridiculous. They’ve found a solution to every one of his objections, and even saw right through those objections to the heart of the matter: Eliot’s own issues. He wants to protect himself. He wants to hold back and stay safe.

But they’re right; that ship has long since sailed. And Eliot knows, in his bones somewhere, the same place he knows how to tell when someone’s following him or lying to him or afraid of him, that they’re not getting sick of him. He knows he’s not getting sick of them. This is _it_ , as _it_ as it’s going to get for him. This is the relationship that’s going to last, no matter what form that relationship’s in. He’s going to live the rest of his life with these two conspiring against him.

And he’s going to love every second of it.

“Okay,” he says again, quiet this time. He can feel himself smiling and ducks his head, his natural reaction to that smile for them he usually tries to keep secret. “Alright then.”

“Alright then,” Hardison echoes.

“Alright then,” Parker copies. After a second, she adds, “That was weird. Don’t worry, though. I think it was good weird.”

Eliot laughs. He leans over to kiss her, his fingers intertwined with Hardison’s, and he lets himself feel that soaring feeling in his stomach, that unbridled _happiness_ he gets when he’s around them.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at her and then looking at Hardison. He can hardly believe this is his life. “I think it’s good weird, too.”

She grins at him, happy and loving, and Hardison grins at the two of them grinning, and Eliot lets himself stop trying to pack all those feelings back up. He has a feeling he’s going to need them from here on out.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


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